


Recessional

by acidpop25



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ex Sex, F/M, Genderswap, Girl!Arthur, Rule 63, Unresolved Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story in reverse. Based on the song of the same name by Vienna Teng.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recessional

_I. "It's so beautiful here," she says, "this moment now."_

Eames lies awake in his hotel bed, undressed for sleep but not sleeping. The room is dark save for the yellow glow of the streetlamp outside that makes its way in through the cracks in the blinds; Eames stares at the dull hotel art on the opposite wall, just shapes and suggestions of color in the darkness, but what he sees, again and again, is Arthur dying. The thrash of limbs, a life being slowly smothered out.

When the knock on the door comes, Eames does not think to question who it could be standing outside. He knows, and he opens the door to her.

"I know I shouldn't be here," Arthur says to him, "but I– I had to come."

Eames merely nods and closes the door. She is barefoot on the garishly patterned carpet, and her hair hangs in disarray, one clip still feebly holding back part of the left side.

"Is this okay?"

"Of course," he assures her, and Arthur just stares up at him like there's something she wants but is afraid to take. They aren't together any longer, but he _knows_ this woman. He knows her better than anyone, and Arthur shudders as the tension leaves her body when Eames takes her in his arms.

"Thank you," she murmurs against his shoulder, slender arms wrapping around him, and they stand like that, silent. Eames takes her weight when she sways on her feet, exhausted. Her breath gives a little tremble, warm against his bare skin.

"I was scared for you," Eames confesses, although he doesn't need to. Then, after a stretched silence, "Do you want to stay tonight?"

"Yes," she whispers, and Eames frees her from the lone hair clip and sets it on the nightstand before sliding back into bed. Arthur hesitates– a brief shifting of weight, tucking her hair behind her ear and then bringing it forward again to hide her face as she slips out of her clothes. She stops when she is down to her satin slip, like she doesn't know anymore if she's allowed to go further. To just her panties, maybe, or to nothing at all. Eames, wearing only his flannel boxers, stays silent as she climbs into bed beside him. The satin brushes his skin, fleeting and soft, a whisper.

Sometimes I miss you so much that I don't know how I live without you, Eames thinks. He doesn't say it. In the darkness, Arthur looks at him, something piercing the veil of her exhaustion. Longing, pain, regret, sadness, _something_ is raw in her eyes.

"Eames," Arthur says. Just his name. And he knows, oh, he knows. They both do. And there's a reason, he knows, why he shouldn't want this, but he takes Arthur in his arms and kisses her and lets himself forget. His hands give her the permission his voice had not, skimming her slip and pulling it up over her head, and when they have bared each other's skin in the darkness Eames lays her down and slides home, their gazes locked as their bodies come together. A line of light slants across Arthur's face, catching in her deep eyes, and her exhausted body is pliant and welcoming. Tired, yes, but wanting still, and Eames maps her skin all over again. Skin he had known, skin he might never know like this again. Skin he shouldn't know again.

He is slow with her, and they make love almost silently but for their breaths, the rustle of the sheets. Arthur comes with no noise at all, not even a gasp, her breath catching her throat. But she breathes again, she breathes again, and she is still warm and soft and alive in Eames' arms as he falls into her.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?" Arthur asks him, quiet and careful like there's something she's afraid of breaking. Something fragile.

"I shouldn't," he says, because it's what he has to say, but he pulls her into the cradle of his arms.

* * *

 _II. And she dreams through the noise._

"I always hated this jacket," Arthur murmurs, plucking at the shoulder, but she rests her head against the maroon corduroy anyway, her eyelids half-mast.

"Because it leaves marks on your face, I know," he replies. "It's comfortable."

"For you, maybe."

"No one's making you sleep on my shoulder, Arthur."

"These horrible chairs are," she mumbles in answer, "I can't be held responsible for Madrid's poor choices. Also not for how many time zones I've been through."

"I suppose not." He wants to curl his arm around her, or pet her hair. She's probably too sleepy to object, so he gives in and unravels the end of her braid. Arthur yawns and snuggles in a little closer, eyes shut now. The lashes make dark half-moons on her cheeks.

"It was a good job, though. Good to see you again."

Eames' heart gives a thump in his chest. "Forgot what it's like to work with a competent forger, did you?"

"Forgot how much I like being around you," Arthur corrects, but her voice is trailing off into nothing, and when Eames chances a sidelong glance at her, Arthur has fallen asleep. Despite the bustle around them, the tinny sounds of announcements over the loudspeakers, her breathing has gone even, deepening, slowing. Eames unwinds the last of her braid, letting the shorter locks of her hair fall forward into her face, a strand brushing across her parted lips.

Eames doesn't know what to think of this, of Arthur sleeping trustingly on his shoulder as if nothing had changed, as if he was still hers and she was still his. He doesn't know what it means, if it means anything at all.

Eames lets her sleep on, undisturbed, until their flight.

* * *

 _III. And the words, they're everything and nothing._

"Coffee, no sugar," Arthur says to the barista, then glances over at Eames. "You still drink cappuccinos, don't you?"

"Yes," he agrees, and Arthur orders him one, presses the cup into his hands when it arrives.

"Why coffee?" Eames asks her as they sit down. "You could just as easily have wired me my cut of the pay."

Arthur sips her drink and pulls her notepad out of her purse, laying it discreetly on the table. "I'm already on my next job," she says, and then opens the notepad slips a folded cheque from between the pages, passing it discreetly to Eames.

"Ah. Well, cheers." He pockets it, takes a long drink of the cappuccino and watches her blow lightly on the steam rising from her own cup. Of course it was work. What else would it be, with Arthur?

"Boring job, mind," she adds, "not even worth a real architect, much less a forger or a dedicated chemist. Simple one-level, and I'm doing the building."

"Corporate?" Eames inquires, and her lips quirk.

"Naturally. What else?"

"If there's one thing you dream well, it's office buildings," he agrees.

"I don't know whether or not I should be offended," Arthur replies mildly, and bumps her foot into Eames' leg under the table. A light, chiding tap of her pointy-toed high heels, but her instep rubs briefly against the sliver of bare skin where his slacks have ridden up slightly. He doesn't know whether to dismiss it as accident or intent. Something in between, maybe. Habit.

She's still so easy to be with that sometimes he forgets he's not _with_ her anymore. Maybe she does the same.

"You just let me know when you have something interesting you need me for, darling," Eames tells her, and realizes a second too late that the old endearment has slipped out.

Arthur dimples, but her gaze is focused beyond him, looking out the window, and Eames turns to see a black car pulling up to the curb in the light spring rain.

"That's my cue to get going," Arthur says, tucking her notes away and draining the rest of her coffee, and Eames grabs her wrist as she reaches for her umbrella.

"Hey. Listen, this was... nice. Let's do it again sometime when you're not so tied up, yeah?"

"Sure," she agrees, and stays still. "Um, Eames?" she glances down, and he realizes he still hasn't let go of her wrist.

"Oh," he says, and releases her. "Right, well."

"Anyway," Arthur says, and her smile this time is a little more tentative, "I'll see you around."

"Take care," Eames calls after her as she steps out the door, but he doubts she heard him over the rain.


End file.
